


Squeezing Blood From A Sugarcube

by newtype



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Canon Gay Character, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Escaping the paparazzi, Hotel Sex, M/M, Male descriptors for Keith, Murder Husbands, Non-Linear Narrative, PIV Intercourse, SHEITH - Freeform, Trans Keith (Voltron), Trans Male Character, billionaire au, guilty as charged, revenge porn, trans author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 12:42:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12481816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newtype/pseuds/newtype
Summary: An affair between Keith Kogane and international multi-billionaire fashion designer Takashi Shirogane incites bloodshed. One dead fiancé later, and they suddenly have the world in their hands.“We fell in love, but not in court.”After a grueling investigation case, the two seek safety and privacy behind hotel doors. Some hearts break harder than others.





	Squeezing Blood From A Sugarcube

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this happened. Title and lyrics are borrowed from Yo La Tengo's "Sugarcube" and "All Your Secrets," respectively. Special thanks to Synnesai for commissioning me to write a fic adaption of her amazing Billionaire AU, and also granting me creative liberty with the non-linear narrative and plot elements. This AU was incredibly fun to write. Also, don't forget to leave a comment with feedback! I greatly appreciate hearing what you think.
> 
> P.S Happy birthday Keith!! I meant to upload this on the 23rd but I fell asleep ;;
> 
> The word "cunt" is used in referring to Keith's bits, so if that language makes you uncomfortable please move along.

 

The wine wasn’t nearly as bitter as Keith would’ve liked.

A clinking of glasses. Shiro dispersed the weight across the side of their shared hotel bed, slipping a steady hand under the sheets that ended up on Keith’s thigh. Keith shifted, letting the wine pool against his lips while a firm grip squeezed him.

“You did the right thing,” Shiro told him.

Keith swallowed the burn in his throat. “I know that.”

At this point, no one would have sent the press their way — Shiro's bodyguards made their presence known immediately after the trial, escorting them to their room and ensuring their hard-fought-for privacy. The thoroughness of Shiro's precaution made Keith scoff, more from exhaustion rather than serious disapproval with his lover's actions. His husband was dead, that's all that mattered.

For all he cared, Shiro’s help might as well been courtesy — no one would expect one of the world’s most beloved men in the fashion world, especially someone as charismatic as Shiro. It was a natural move, Keith thought, they’d done only what could’ve been best for the both of them.

Getting caught up in a trial was the least of Keith’s concerns. Scott-free in the eyes of the law, Keith neatly pocketed his widow’s inheritance funds right back into the lap of his universally loved side-piece. Had it been arranged any of way, though, Keith knew it’d work out. Shiro was possessive just enough to know when to stay back, let the media do the talking for them, let the heat wave of flashing cameras and skeptics numb the aftershocks of the crime.

He always wanted to call his husband his accomplice. It practically rolled off Keith’s tongue -- his accomplice Shiro, whose name-brand prosthetic hand was, at this moment, stroking his exposed inner-thighs, practically trembling for attention.

Teasing him, Keith asked Shiro to pour him another glass of wine before pushing his weight down, and swinging his leg over Shiro’s hip. _His_ \-- he'd climb every social ladder and then some to claim his share of Shiro's body. It didn't only feel right -- but Keith genuinely wondered how he lived before their affair began if either of them realized how synchronous two separate hearts could be.

The larger man gasped in mock surprise.

“I thought you just wanted to cuddle,” Shiro joked.

“I’ve been standing up all day in ugly court-room all day. You really think I’d want that? I missed this. _I missed you._ ”

A hot sigh kissed Keith’s throat, coaxing him to shudder on the larger man’s lap. The warmth of the wine was already spreading across Keith’s face, soaking his cheeks and ears with a sweet, dark red blush. Like cherries — Shiro once confessed he wanted to bite on Keith’s lips like that, dreaming that’d he taste just as ripe as his favorite fruit.

The liquid barely stirred in Keith's hand. He bit his lip, brows furrowed. Shiro knew that expression knew that if he wanted to hear what Keith really thought, it'd be like trying to pry open a lock with his bare hands. Force wouldn't achieve much of anything, Shiro decided. All this was leading up to was heating up his own blood.

"Do you think I have a clean conscience? I'm going to be looking over my shoulder for weeks. The press won't shut up about it. They're going to think I'm going to hurt you, too—"

“Don’t say that,” Shiro interrupted, “You’re better off. What we did was right, Keith. You deserve so much more than what that man would’ve ever been able to give you. This is our second chance.”

Keith opened his mouth. The weight of Shiro's words made his stomach sink. Even when it came to the manslaughter of all things — Shiro somehow still wanted to coax him into the right. They claimed domestic abuse, cited Keith's actions as self-defense, used the best lawyers Shiro's money could buy.

And somehow that still didn't feel like enough. A sharp, shining part inside of Keith still wanted finality, stabbing him until it got what it wanted. What kind of closure would he enjoy? What was going to finally push him past the guilty and realize he had something far more valuable right in front him?

Shiro clasped his free hand. Keith let himself fall limp, lean into the other man’s touch, savoring the butterfly kisses on his wrist.

It could be worse, Keith thought. _You could be the dead one instead, for example._

Typical _. Maybe you’re allowed to have something precious for once._ Maybe it’s bigger than having to falsify grief for a spouse who never loved him. Or saw him for the man, in body and spirit, Keith knew he was.  Keith desperately wanted to let those thoughts free, set that stabbing piece of himself at peace. _Move on._

It’ll be even more suspicious if you’re not mourning. Shed some crocodile tears. Anything, Keith. Don’t ruin this for us, please. For me.

“You feel bad for him?” Keith asked. His face was searing.

"No — he had it coming. Someone was going to do it, eventually. You don't have that kind of money and expect to live past sixty."

“That’s kinda mean, don’t you think?”

“I’m very intent on spoiling you,” Shiro hummed, “As soon as you stop trying to dig up the past. Our hands are dirty enough as it is. You know what the public thinks — no one as charming and as important as Takashi Shirogane would ever commit a felony.”

“You’re very good at that,” Keith laughed under his breath. “You’ve done your job, whatever it was. I’m convinced you’re a fucking global superstar, yeah? You pull enough strings with the law and suddenly it’s all milk and honey?”

“It could be.”

Shiro knew he was painfully cheesy — he wondered if Keith had ever seen _Casablanca_. _I just don’t give a damn_. He wanted to laugh like he needed to exorcise the irony out of himself.

Keith was safer now. That’s all that mattered.

“…And I’d like to think that too,” Keith muttered. “An affair and manslaughter aren’t exactly easy secrets to hide. But maybe I’m wrong.”

“Subtleness isn’t exactly your specialty.”

“You’re right,” Keith said. Pulling his hand away, he tightened it around Shiro’s waist, rubbing quick, forceful circles.

“No one ever thought red was my color. But I proved them wrong — was that enough? I knew he hated you. Didn’t see me as a man. You made things very complicated and suddenly all I could see was red — I saw fucking stars, Shiro. I couldn’t keep my mind off you. I needed you. And I still do.”

Shiro saw what the press could do to couples; just on that premise, he'd refuse to turn on the television knowing he'd only see the paparazzi chasing them down like starved dogs. Neither of them would sink to that — the case had gone far enough, was practically at the end of its media lifecycle. Any more information would need to squeeze out from their blood, like the metaphorical noose Shiro felt around his neck when he saw Keith undress in the corner of his eye.

They were doing this.

He helped Keith kill a man in cold blood in the name of self-preservation.

Keith had a right to his own body.

A line was drawn: in a few well-placed arsenic tablets and the silver ribbon curve of Keith’s butterfly pocket knife.

"Accidents happen," Keith told his dead fiancé’s advisor. The funeral, Shiro remembers, had been one of the tensest in his entire life. Suspicious glances and strangers whispering while Keith covered his face, mock tears, while Shiro cautiously put his prosthetic hand on his shoulder.

He and that Shirogane were always so close. I couldn’t imagine losing someone so fast. Now the boy’s just a poor widow.

And the estate, Keith had whispered into his ear, mocking the conversation behind them. _I — we — have the best lawyers money can buy._

After the funeral, Keith abandoned his complimentary grieving like an outdated winter coat, turning his eye away from a sentimental ceremony to a business of transferring as much of the estate as he could. Risks and benefits. _He’d throw it all away just for one chance._

 

* * *

 

That’s all it took. No one would have assumed as much, had Keith not worn the expression of a prowling feline without even a suppressed sob to spare. Shiro figured, if Keith couldn’t fake it in bed, faking it to skeptics would’ve been impossible to ask.

Shiro closed his eyes. Two hands were desperately grabbing his shoulders now, digging deep into his swollen muscles. As usual, Keith took the lead, already unbuckling Shiro’s designer belt, running a finger through the waistband of his underwear. A hitched breath in his throat reminded Shiro where he was — the weight of Keith’s ass against his groin, pressing his back against the quickening collapse of Shiro’s chest. Was he really breathing that hard already — the burning aftertaste of the wine was all Shiro recognized before Keith sunk down, using all his force to toss Shiro on the bed.

Hot to the touch, he reached for Keith's cheek and stroked his high cheekbones, tipping his thumb right at his temple before trailing down to the other man's lips. Scarlet and bruised violet, Shiro couldn't get enough of Keith's swollen mouth, already wet from drink and the hungry kisses he stormed on Keith the minute they'd closed the door. Even from the bottom, palming Keith's bare, straddled thigh, nothing could've erased the image from Shiro's mind.

“You’re awfully quiet there,” Keith hissed. “I’d assume you were thinking about someone else if you hadn’t been there with me today.”

“Now that’s a joke,” Shiro laughed. His throat burned, ached. He wanted more bitterness in his mouth, wanted to lick his lips and remind himself how raw Keith tasted. Like swallowing fire, each time he’d done so, Shiro feared more and more that Keith might finally come down on him like a mantis and bite his head off. Maybe from this view, he thought, it wouldn’t be all that bad.

“Something’s bothering you.” Keith lowered his voice, eyes piercing through Shiro from his straddle. “You can talk to me, y’know. There’s a lot on my mind — you know that.”

“No — I’m just appreciating the view. Although, if I were you, I’d stop on the wine.”

"You're probably right," Keith hummed, glancing away at Shiro's own empty glass on the drawer top. Without a pause, he set his own half-empty (for him it was always half-empty) glass beside it. With a satisfied noise, he immediately re-directed his attention back to the steady rise and fall of Shiro's impeccable chest.

This was good; unbuttoning the tightened business cover stretched across his pecs, Keith could’ve sworn he was opening up a present, instantly recognizing the hunger threatening to expose itself.

Shiro moaned at the touch, biting his bottom lip as Keith took his sweet time, sucking in his breath as Keith cupped the taut curve of his bare chest. Once Shiro had joked about comparing their tits, an ironic but playful enough gesture that let him know they both felt at home with each other, confiding their bodies and discovering new sensations together. And that much was true, Shiro naturally assumed — Shiro's genuine warmth wasn't easy thawed, but Keith easily told the difference between feinted social charisma and his hard-earned respect for Shiro's trust.

He was addicted. Keith stifled a cry, twisting the swollen bud of Shiro’s nipple, hoping to drag out another gasp. If he had all-night, he’d likely find himself toying with Shiro until dawn, anything he could do to prolong the man’s soft pleading.

"Enjoying yourself there?" Shiro laughed, unabashedly admiring their swapped positions. Novelty was switching, Keith thought to himself, grinding down on the other man's hips, pressing all the weight he could into his thighs. Could this be any other night, Keith began wondering how long he'd continue with foreplay and threaten Shiro to come earlier than anticipated.

Sweat. Keith dipped into the corner of Shiro's collarbone, ghosting his lips on the taste before beckoning for another response. They'd negotiated their own concept of foreplay early into the affair, saying less with words and more with the electromagnetic push and pull of their bodies. Although nothing quite topped watching this pillar of a man blush and flustered when it came to Keith's most natural of reflexes. Clearly, they weren't close to finished yet; even behind doors, the pang of silence admiration froze Keith's hands. _They were professional adults here._ The magnitude of what they committed was in plain sight. Maybe turning off the lights would help, Keith contemplated, make it easier for the both of us.

“Not yet. Let’s take it easy, Keith. There’s really no rush.”

“You’re the last person I expected to hear that from,” he scoffed.

“Take off your clothes.”

Keith swallowed.

“Yes, sir,” he teased. “And do you need help undressing? I think it’s been a long day.”

Shiro feinted a pause and let Keith lean into the bruised mark on his neck. If he was careful, he could probably hide it on their way out of the hotel.

Rather than letting the gesture go lost, Shiro took the opportunity to grope Keith's hips, waiting until he heard an all-too-familiar defeated groan.

"Alright, you win. Happy?" Keith buried his nose under his arm, tangling himself up against Shiro's chest. Chances were that the shirt might not entirely come off, Keith figured. Maybe it'd be better — at least he'd have something to hold on to while he asked Shiro in his most polite voice to raw him in designer business-wear. That could happen. Right now all he could concentrate on was the bitter taste on his tongue.

He let Shiro remove his pants, drop them at the foot of the bedside, and let himself roll the remainder of his waistband down his thigh. Buried in him, Keith acted on the urge to press against Shiro's wrists, as tactfully as he could, guiding them to the hem of his clearly well-worn shirt.

“Is this alright?” Shiro quietly asked.

“I want all of it. I need this. I want you to see all of me.”

Refusing to remove his hands, Keith loosened his grip and took a sharp breath as Shiro’s heated prosthetic pressed against his stomach. Without any hesitation, Keith felt two fingers comb under the tight cotton undergarment. Before Shiro got to ask, Keith did away with the offending clothing and tossed his shirt away with a confident, potentially drunk fling. He rolled his eyes, moving his hand up Shiro’s waist to unclasp his belt — genuine leather — with professional efficiency. That’s how Shiro phrased it during their first phone-sex session, while the husband was away socializing but still in the house, Keith quickly learned how to fasten private bedroom locks. Even for a few hours, he could pretend he was somewhere else and build an impenetrable wall with just a voice.

Now Keith could properly breathe with anticipation.

If things were different, Shiro had ended their call, _I’d take you traveling with me. I get to see so many places, for business, for shows. I know you’d love it._

On his knees, Keith toyed with Shiro’s undone tie.

“Can I peek? You looked so good underneath me, so ready and patient to give me everything you can. Do you want to show me what you have down there, mister?”

“Keith,” Shiro whispered.

"If you don't hurry up, I'm pretty sure this’ll end in a _big mess_ ," Keith pushed, "You really have no idea what all this waiting's done to me. I'm aching all over, Shiro. You have some stress to burn, don't you? I want you to take it out on me. I want it like before when I couldn't even speak your name in public."

“If you spoke like that all the time, I’d be the dead one,” Shiro answered.

“Oh. That’s funny. I was also thinking about whining until you decided I needed punishing.”

“You wouldn’t…”

“Nothing stopping me. You know I’ve been bad.”

Shiro sucked in a breath. They were doing this, unapologetically. While this wasn’t the first time he’d been struck with that claim, each time Shiro felt his stomach dip, abdomen grow hot and heavy. With patience, Shiro finished stripping, only feeling the knot in his throat tightened at the sight of Keith hungrily staring with parted lips. Had this been like any other night before, in another hotel miles away from either of their residences and busy schedules, he’d be proudly pounding his cock against the back of Keith’s throat, forcing himself deeper with each muffled whined. Did Keith want that?

He never asked if he liked it rough. It was only hours after their second date that Keith somehow mastered the art of _giving,_ and needed to prove himself between a billionaire's legs. Dozens of potential scenarios flashed themselves to Shiro — stress, Keith urged him on. Energy to burn, as if conspiring in the murder wasn't satisfying enough.

“Fucking succubus,” Shiro dryly laughed. “You’re out for more than blood, aren’t you?”

“Don’t say stuff like that,” Keith muttered, “You’re going to kill the mood.”

"No, I was just — thinking about your mouth."

“Mm, it’s pretty sore right now. You’re ruthless.”

“Just that you bit me…”

Keith crossed his legs. Neither of them had any need to spare expenses — figuratively and literally.

“…And I think you need thorough discipline for that if you're going to keep biting the hand feeding you,” Shiro teased. “Nothing worse than a loose mouth.”

Next thing he knew, Keith was splayed on his back, pressed just firm enough between the satin and the full force of Shiro’s bulky torso. Ears burning, Keith turned away from Shiro’s unbroken stare, baring his already flushed neck. As fast as Shiro could pin him down, Keith could taste the carefulness in which he unfastened his binder, confident yet slow – like waving his palm over a hot surface. Endearing as it was, Keith swallowed in anticipation as the air hit his exposed chest. Back to the sheets, he eagerly propped himself on his elbows.

How far did he plan on pushing Shiro? Shiro's throat clenched at Keith's unmoving stare. Closing his eyes, he still couldn't re-create its disarming power, mesmerizing, only making his ears burn harder.

“Eat me out?” Keith asked. No, demanded, like it wasn’t anything more than a simple request. Thighs pressed together, Keith tossed him a coy smirk, trying to play Shiro as much as humanly possible. _Puppet on a string. Big man._

“Don’t need to ask twice,” Shiro said, “You’re really taking your time, aren’t you?”

“I wanna milk it,” Keith joked. “You know I get what I want, right? We’re gonna live a good life after this mess settles out.”

“You think so?” Shiro bit the inside of his cheek, palming the underside of Keith’s calf, slowly combing his hand up to his warm inner-thigh. Sparks flaked in his stomach when Keith unexpectedly choked, obviously biting down on a stifled moan.

“Already?” He didn’t shy from retracting his hand, drawing out his fingers to put Keith’s own wetness on display.

Keith gasped under his breath, “I wasn’t – I wasn’t expecting that.”

“You’re so sensitive,” Shiro laughed, “Acting so high and mighty, too. It’s cute.”

“You know how I feel when you call me that.”

“I know,” Shiro teased. “I know.”

Keith huffed, burying his face into a pillow while goose bumps hurried behind Shiro's fingers. Knees twisted, Keith wondered how long he was going to hold up. Wondered how Shiro tasted – not just like wine, but how rough and deep his cock would feel against his tongue. Deeper and deeper. Already swollen, Keith bit down on his lips again, facing burning hot and all-consuming. Without a second thought, he’d let Shiro devour him, like a wolf – starving.

Stretching himself just enough to grab his shoulder, Keith opened his legs, parting himself just enough so Shiro caught a glimpse of a violet-pink slit.

“Uh-huh,” Keith urged “That’s right.”

He inhaled. He was going to unwind. He wasn’t going to let this sensation float away. Stay in the moment. Embrace the overwhelming emotions that came with the tickle of Shiro’s breath against his cunt. Barely pushing his lips apart, Keith shut his eyes, gasping deep and raspy from what felt like the top of his chest. _No, that’s right, that’s right, Shiro. Don’t worry about it._

Their first fuck had been unexpected. Not that Shiro didn’t – not unlike any other man in his position – didn’t have experience with flings like him. Even with his travels, Keith had wondered if Shiro was only in it for the novelty, a quickie before another conference room meeting in Tokyo, Paris, Berlin. But somehow along the way, Keith perfected his vice-grip, taking the man away from meetings, into private guest rooms in his dead fiance's house for seven minutes in heaven. They were adults making bad decisions. That was enough motivation, Keith decided long ago. Sex in the dark becomes confessional and next thing he knew, they were mutually standing in cold-blood.

Maybe he'd fall asleep like this. With Shiro between his legs, practically worshipping his cunt. Keith sucked in his breath, teasing the idea of using his other hand to jerk Shiro off, wanting him harder sooner than later. Obscene noises filled in their silence, with enough gravity to pull Keith deeper into Shiro’s unrelenting rhythm, non-stop and borderline-violent.

“Harder,” Keith growled, “Fuck. Fuck. Shiro.”

“Baby. You’re so messy.”

“Mhm. What did you expect?” Keith teased the white of Shiro’s hair, coiling it around his fingers, contemplating whether to ball it into a fist.

“Seems to be your specialty,” Shiro added, “Not that I’m complaining. You’re a very talented young man.”

“Stop,” Keith whispered. The pet-name pathetically made him clench. Shiro paused, fingers still patiently spreading his cunt apart, albeit hesitant. “No, fuck I meant. Go back to that.”

“Just checking.”

“I – I know,” Keith whined. “God, you know what I mean. Fuck me with your mouth, Shiro. Just. You know what I need.” He was stuttering and honestly wanted to combust into flames.

Shiro hummed as if he needed to contemplate Keith's plea. Voice edging on a sob, he almost felt bad for Keith – Shiro idly returned to stroking Keith’s entrance, toying with the soft hood of his cock. Wet enough to slip between his fingers, Shiro tightened his movements, working into a circular pulse that immediately brought Keith to a panting edge. With an increase of pace, he managed to get Keith choking for words, perfectly satisfied in seeing the usually composed man pulling his elbow over his eyes as his tongue hungrily lapped.

Undeniably soft and surprisingly bitter to the taste, Shiro hurriedly flicked Keith’s hole wide with his tongue, exploring the wet, throbbing folds protecting it. Working him open, he managed to coax another muffled scream from Keith, who at this point was biting the pillow hot and heavy.

“Never thought I’d end up with someone as reckless as you,” Shiro panted. Keith held his breath watching the other man’s Adam’s apple rise and fall with a swallow. A part of him – likely the wine – eagerly wanted to know what he tasted like.

“Oh, this has nothing to do with me, personally,” Keith butted. “You did this all to yourself. Rubbing up against all the wrong kind of boys. You knew sooner or later you’d get into some deep, irrepressible shit.”

“Maybe,” Shiro chuckled. Pulling back from Keith’s cunt, he fondled the soft flesh of Keith’s thighs, palming them as firmly as he could. Instead of snapping back, Keith shuddered.

“You like that, huh? Having everything on display for me?” Making sure Keith was still under his grip, Shiro hoisted one of his legs over his hip, using his other hand to grab a handful of ass. An annoyed whine. It was hard to pretend he couldn’t easily pick up Keith and use his own body-weight against his admittedly smaller-framed partner. Keith faked a squirm under him, a slightly over-exaggerated tease.

“Making it all worth your time,” Keith answered. “I mean, despite all the foreplay, I’m glad you made it.” He reached towards Shiro, carding his fingers through his white tuft of hair, lips parted in a half-smirk. “I’ll call you ambitious. Give you that.”

“God. You do this to everyone, Keith?”

The other man hummed and bit his tongue. "No. I just like making you wait before you get to the main course."

Shiro replied with another hard squeeze against his thighs, this time rubbing circles against his innermost flesh, ghosting the wetness of Keith’s cunt like he had all the time the world. As if an electric current ran through his back, Keith gasped and found himself pressing even further against the headboard, towards Shiro’s busy hands.

From there, Keith huffed and let him do the rest, letting Shiro guide himself slowly back against his dick, tongue hot and heavy against it. Burning – that’s what it felt like, as if Keith could’ve just closed his eyes and let the overwhelming quickness of Shiro’s tongue knock him out. For once, it almost felt like too much; if Shiro hadn’t pushed him before, he definitely was now.

With about as much precision as he could muster, Keith moaned and lifted his hips, nudging the side of Shiro’s temple gently with his calf. The other man quickly noticed and picked up his head, while leaving his thumb to continue rolling Keith’s swollen tip.

“What’s wrong, babe?”

“You’re going too fast,” Keith whined. Maybe it was the drink that’d slowed his sense. No, definitely – was the drink. Shiro should’ve stopped him or – maybe he could turn this into something beneficial for the both of them. Sloppy wasn’t like him.

“This too much?” Shiro asked. Even in the dimmed hotel room, Keith could clearly make out the concern in his partner’s face. For a second, he hesitated to open his mouth, not sure exactly he needed instead of this. Shiro was more than enough. As far as their affair has gone, Keith could recognize his own embarrassment of not knowing _the minutiae_ of his body, what felt right, what should. Try not to think about the blood on your hands. Every time Shiro touched him, Keith felt another part inside him unwrapped itself and present them with a whole new set of anxieties, a whole new catalog of messy sensations to sort through.

Patience. _Be patient._

“Sorry, I just,” Keith mumbled. He pinched his temple. “I just, it’s kinda overstimulating.”

As Keith spoke, Shiro slowed down the pace of his hand, now only rubbing the softened foreskin instead of the weeping head. Still, Keith tried to stifle a hiccup and pull his hips back out of reflex.

“Can I finish you up, at least? I’m not going to get any sleep tonight unless I make you come.”

Keith rolled his eyes. Drummed his fingers against his knee. “I didn’t say _go slower._ ”

With the right amount of encouragement, Keith convinced Shiro to fall back between his legs, this time playfully bringing his hand around his neck. Keith laughed at first, taking in Shiro’s amused reaction with another stroke against the shaved bit of hair.

“Honestly, I tell you to jump and you ask me how high,” he teased.

Shiro replied, “Well, not like you give me much of a choice here. You’re very convincing.”

“Oh? I didn’t know you actually _liked_ charisma.” Keith’s cheeked burned at his own joke. The presence of Shiro willfully between his thighs, mouth just begging to be given permission to – it was entertaining in a way that made Keith want to chase this high over and over. Getting Shiro on his knees, _demanding_ him to eat him out as many times as he could, until his jaw hurt, tongue and lips thoroughly worked.

“Come here,” Shiro growled. Before going in, he dipped his neck against the fleshiest part of Keith’s thighs, biting down with enough force to leave a pleasant mark in the morning. As expected, Keith gasped and tugged at the sheets. As if on command, Shiro took this as his cue to suck at the exposed edge of Keith’s cock, focusing his attention there as he slowly entered one, two, three digits in. Stopping there, Shiro arched his hand, taking his time to appreciate the soft wet sounds Keith involuntarily made. Tight as he was, Keith huffed and tried spreading himself further, pliantly digging his heel into the duvet, biting his bottom lip until it turned white.

 Stretching as far as his knuckles, Shiro quickly plunged back into wet cunt, doing his best to match his pace up his busy mouth. Soon enough he felt Keith twitch and hardened underneath him, barely refraining from a yell. Had he known better, Keith realized they were making more of a mess than he anticipated.

“Good, holy shit,” Keith panted. Every felt slightly blurry. Dazed and surprisingly hot enough to begin making his sweat. Wine, yes. He imagined they’d order more tomorrow morning.

Spreading his fingers against Shiro's head, Keith tightened his grip and unexpectedly bucked against Shiro's cheek. Before he could form an apology, Shiro pulled back and leaned into him, pulling his fingers out of Keith's cunt and using his hand to pull him onto his lap. Happily obliging, Keith welcomed the change of position and lifted himself just enough for Shiro to spread his folds open again, rubbing the tip of his cock up against wet palms.

“Does that feel good?” Shiro asked, meeting Keith eye-to-eye.

“Yea,” Keith sighed. As if that wasn’t enough, he eagerly grinded against Shiro’s open hand, inviting the other man to continue. “I’m glad we never have to see that son of a bitch ever again. Just this. Me and you. From here on out.”

“Nothing but pleased here,” Shiro answered.

Keith laughed, clearly drunk, burying his nose into Shiro’s clavicle with a confidence Shiro quickly embraced. He was right. This could be theirs. The next thing to normal without the ethics. Seated on him, Shiro carefully shifted his weight, helping Keith straddle himself without losing balance, skin still red and decorated with possession declarations of _mine._

Satisfied with how far coaxed Keith open, Shiro slid the remainder of his digit out in one slick gesture. Adjusting to the sudden emptiness, Keith clicked his tongue and geared himself for something bigger, whatever that may be. Mouth tight against Shiro’s collarbone, Keith contemplated biting down and leaving a mark of his own – not that Shiro wouldn’t refuse. Feeling like a liability was always in the back of his mind. Not being masculine enough, not asserting his own dominance in the relationship nearly enough. If he couldn't confront those anxieties in bed, Keith always figured they'd manifest somewhere else, not always as clean as he'd like. He knew they already had; even Shiro could see it. No one ever told him how his body worked, what felt right, warn him how they'd come crashing into together with an impressive chemical reaction. Sound logic never seemed to apply to what should've been simple fucking, in other words. In a sensorial minefield, the buzz of the media frenzy wearing off, glued to Shiro's lap, the irony of being the man giving orders was like a slap to the face.

“Get down,” Keith demanded. The flash of confusion on Shiro’s face made his heart flutter. Embarrassing. “Lay on your back. I’ll ride you. Let me do the rest of the work tonight.”

Shiro hummed in amusement, pulling back the hand he used to finger Keith. Spreading his fingers, both assessed the gleam of cool slick, Keith with mild disgust and Shio mostly with satisfaction.

“Usually you like it the other way around,” he laughed.

“I changed my mind.”

“Suit yourself,” Shiro obliged. You doing alright? Balance yourself?”

Keith held his breath and used this as an opportunity to shove Shiro point-black, re-orienting his straddle to firmly pin him into place.

“Pretty sure. You’ve always wanted to go all the way. Now that’d be a scandal, wouldn’t it? Escape the paparazzi in a high-profile murder case with your _beautiful_ trophy husband in your private suite, supposedly with _billions_ waiting for us in the bank.”

“Someone has a _fantasy_. The press is going to be an absolute wreck tomorrow. Maybe for a few weeks,” Shiro said. “Keep a low-profile, and fly out of the country to my next business meeting without the pesky legal hassle.”

“Is that _your_ fantasy, then?”

"Well. No. More like reality." Shiro's cheeks burned. Truthfully, he felt they hadn't planned as far ahead as he'd like. Takashi Shirogane was meticulous. No mistakes – people or corporate – it didn't matter. If Keith couldn't be practical, he genuinely hoped they'd come to map out the gaps in-between. Eventually.

Maybe he felt he deserved the pout Keith responded with, soft fleshy thighs embracing his hips as a reminder that they – against all odds – happened to be _here._ Before Shiro thought of a reply, Keith greedily began to fondle the hard base of his dick, having to use both hands just to manage a firm grasp. Satisfaction gleamed across Keith's face seeing Shiro's Adam's apple tighten and swallow, practically begging for him to drink in the view.

“Oh, you look so pretty like that. On the bottom? I can do all sorts of things to you this way. Did you –”

“Drawer,” Shiro muttered.

“Right.”

Keith regularly enjoyed a risk or two, but Shiro just as regularly made it a point to emphasize he was clean – and planned on it staying that way. Without preamble, Keith rolled the condom over Shiro's swelled head, noticing his own chest jump at the thickness. Tapping the slit gently with his finger, Keith toyed with the violet edge, thumbing the exposed flesh before rolling the foreskin back. As expected, Shiro shuddered and clenched under his partner’s precise hands, not entirely sure if this was the reaction Keith had wanted to provoke. Sore, ready, Keith whistled and cupped the full width of Shiro’s base, tightening his grip with a firm squeeze as he started pumping. Slowing his pace, Keith stopped at the curved bottom of Shiro’s tip, making sure to pay attention to the sensitive bundle of nerves with the steady pad of his thumb.

While not entirely a hand-job, Shiro followed along with Keith’s teasing, hoping he’d eventually tire out and realize they’d been at this for hours. Once it was clear Keith was appeased, he swiftly slid the condom over Shiro’s members, again using both hands to roll it entirely down the shaft. The intensity of Keith's focus amplified his heart-rate; the tension between them could've easily been sliced in half. Carefully, Shiro stroked the small of Keith's back in encouraging, with as much delicateness as petting a cat. Surprisingly this made Keith pull back, hands abruptly off his cock but still cupped in the same gesture, caught guilty of a crime he proudly committed.

Talk, later, Shiro reminded himself. Keith’s face turned scarlet.

“Cyanide? Is that what it was?”

“What – Shiro?”

“You put cyanide in the guy’s drink and then what?”

Keith paused, offended. Toying with a strand of hair, he rocked on Shiro’s groin, barely brushing against his erection. No, talk, later. Over Sémillon. Yes. That’d straighten everything out – they’d be out of the country in no time with the amount of power Shiro had. If his fiancé hadn’t disappeared under _mysterious circumstances,_ Keith might’ve even had the sense to consider himself lucky.

“If this is your way of telling me you want to be choked, maybe next time,” Keith answered. “What I do and don’t do to my dead boyfriend isn’t exactly my favorite conversation.”

"No, no, just a thought," Shiro brushed over Keith's hip again, running his hands to his knee in encouragement. "I'm not far off the mark am I, though? Waiting only until you had an accomplice doesn't seem like you."

Keith raised a brow. “Like me? I’m flattered.” Eyeing the swell of Shiro’s, he had far more interesting plans in mind. “Ask me again in the morning, and I might remember. Maybe.”

Without waiting Keith took the lead, spreading himself open with one hand, the other idly stroking the length of Shiro’s twitching shaft. Sighing through his teeth, Keith closed his eyes and inserted two digits inside of him again, glad to find he was still loose. With Shiro’s helping hands, Keith straddled the tip of his cock, almost biting his own tongue at the pressure of the heading straining against him. Practically forcing entrance, Keith winced at the stretch against his walls, stifling whine as it finally reached half-way. Without warning, he pulled back up, raising his ass just enough to position himself to take more. As if chasing the pinch of re-entry, Keith hurried in getting his fill, straining to keep his pained moans private until Shiro warily touched his arm.

“Does it hurt…? Keith?”

“It’s good,” he panted, “You’re just. Um. Big. _Really big,_ Shiro.”

“So I’ve been told,” Shiro laughed. “Don’t force yourself. Nice and easy. We have all night.”

“I know that,” Keith huffed. “I mean the part where it hurts. That feels amazing. I want to feel you all the way up in my stomach. Like I want to reckless.”

“Let’s start like this, then,” Shiro said. Hands on Keith’s hips, he coaxed him down to the base of his shaft, already slick with the mess both inadvertently made. Keith swallowed, face almost flushed with what might’ve been called surprise. Full – he felt tremendously, filled, legs already shaking with an ache Keith knew he’d feel in the morning. This time, with deliberate steadiness Keith leaned back and balanced his palm against the duvet, slowly bringing himself to ride Shiro without fully pulling out. Once Keith seemed to be comfortable with this arrangement, Shiro cupped as much of Keith’s ass he could, digging his fingers into the abused skin.

“Shiro – _fuck._ ” Keith moaned through the last syllable, finally giving up on self-restraint. “I want to feel – it’d be so good with all of you. With nothing between us.”

Flash of the camera. White, white blinding curtains of lights. Voices crowding around them, violent, swarming. And then, silence. Nothing. Shiro knew the difference between his old life and his new one. It was as clear as day and night.

Bedding a killer, apparently, wasn’t the last of his moral resolve. He felt the sweat on his chest and Keith already dripping, weeping for attention, kneading him further into his warm cunt. Mixed with the scent of wine and expensive courtroom suits, Keith had never seemed so simultaneously obscene and proper – one foot in his world of bachelors and wealth, another in a private history Shiro knew he’d never be granted access to.

Day and night. Whatever Keith needed from him, he clearly wasn’t getting from anyone else.

Not wanting to finish by himself, Shiro sidled Keith onto his lap, busying his hands by edging the swollen nub begging for attention. Pleased with Keith’s choke, Shiro used his other hand to hold Keith closer against his chest, increasing the friction between them. Screwing Keith's dick between his thumb and index finger made him shudder, satisfied beyond belief with Keith's gasps cut short, eyes shut tight, mouth open without a sound.

His lips tasted like cherries. Shiro hungrily bit down, demanding the rest of Keith, hoping he’d recognize the taste of himself on his tongue. Starving for attention, Keith slid back to the base of Shiro’s cock, pushing himself past the widest part. Waiting until he felt the familiar twitch of Keith against his hand, Shiro continued rocking him against his hips, building up their climax as Keith's content gasps broke their exhausted silence. Shortly after coming, Shiro buried his face into his partner's nape, biting down again as he caught Keith soaked his fingers. He could tease him about squirting, later. For now, Shiro kept still to share the warmth spilled between Keith's thighs, thick and heavy, and no doubt entirely his fault. Ironically, he felt no immediate need to pull out just yet. Still catching his breath, it was clear both of them were done for the night – Keith impossible to read otherwise, sunk on top of him with a pleased smirk.

“So,” Keith laughed, “unsurprisingly, you have a type.”

Arms wrapped around his neck. Shiro sighed into Keith’s display of affection.

_To my little corner of the world  
Dream a little dream_

“And what’s that?” Shiro asked. “Someone who knows what he wants?”

“Dumb. Trouble.” Keith’s eyes fell on Shiro’s. “Riskier than I thought you’d be.”

“You’re cute. When you’re drunk.” Shiro admired the glassy look on Keith's face. Awe and an undeniably exhausted dazed.

Keith scoffed. Dry. He licked his lips and breathed in Shiro’s scent. Darker than just sweat, weightier and grounded in a way Keith always recognized. “Before _this_. You call that risky, too?” he half-joked.

“More like howling, to be fair. I’m sure you woke up more than a few people.”

“God, you’re impossible,” Keith answered. “No wonder you have everyone eating out or hands.”

For that, Shiro gave him a slap on the thigh, just enough to make Keith squirm in his grip. A mouth too smart for his own good. A mouth he couldn’t leave alone.

Sometime later, they noticed a hint of morning-blue bleeding through the curtain. A single strip of light peeling away from the window, across the bed, spreading out across the bare of their skin. Keith swallowed, eyes half-closed with sleep, not quite sure if he was dreaming yet.

Two of them in space. Another night neatly folded and sealed away, like a letter neither of them would bother to read again. Two pairs of hands between them, one tangled in messy black hair, and other wrapped a tight embrace. Shiro wondered if he felt his heart-beat quicken, his lungs suddenly fill to capacity and empty themselves until there was nothing left. Keith was a welcomed presence on his chest, placated, secure.

Maybe just. A blank they mutually agreed upon, another dubious episode neither of them had to acknowledge. In that gap in-between, fill it in with anything at all: Keith’s mouth curling into his, warm, sweet, like a flower ready for spring. Bittersweet. Enough to pass the night.

_Tell me all your secrets,  
Say it slowly and clear so you don't have to speak twice._

Tomorrow they’d read the morning news, live the rest of their lives – whichever came first.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank-you Alastair, Viri, and Day for helping me beta this piece! Good boys misbehaving are...great. If you liked this piece, please leave a comment/kudos! Also, if you happen to find an error please let me know. I stayed up late editing but still might've missed something OTL Thank-you!!!!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/watsnewbussycat)


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